


in need of a hand to hold (and a heart to warm mine)

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [25]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, a touch of young romance, dealing with loss in general, dealing with loss of parents, minor character death that's already happened, we're taking a time jump here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 years post "sticks and stones".</p>
<p>Elodie Baggins is just of age and quite content with her life. She lives with her two uncles, she has a wonderful little brother, and her pup is always there to play with her. She also has a mean right hook and more stubbornness than any young hobbit should. She doesn't need any change at all, no friends beyond the ones she has, and no, definitely no, suitors.</p>
<p>Then life hands her Hob Hayward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in need of a hand to hold (and a heart to warm mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Delving a bit more into Elodie's character. She's become something of a favorite.
> 
> Apologies for any lateness in my replying - work has been something of a bear lately. And by bear I mean massive monster intent on devouring me whole without so much as a by-your-leave. Writing? What's writing?
> 
> In this fic, Elodie is 33, Frodo is 20/21, Bilbo is 83, Thorin is 228? Somewhere in there is what I'm gauging. Hoping to give you a bit of an idea of where we're at.
> 
> Also, this discusses Elodie and how she's dealing with the death, especially the death of her parents. And by dealing I mean it's still very much a wound that she Does Not Touch because touching it hurts. I wanted to give you that warning.

The first time she met Hob Hayward, Elodie wasn’t really properly introduced. She was more interested in finding a toy for her aging hound. Wingtail couldn’t really move well, anymore, and he deserved a toy that would keep him happy without a lot of rambling about.

“Hello,” Hob said cheerfully. Elodie didn’t even realize he was talking to _her_ until he tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, hello!”

“Hello and good day,” she said, glancing at him once before turning back to the vendor. Something Wingtail could chew. That would do. “Do you have any bigger bones than this?” she asked the vendor. Something that would last for a bit.

“Of course I do, dearest,” the vendor said, and he twitched his nose. “Always do for you. How’s your uncle doing? Heard his ankle didn’t do well over the winter, and your other uncle wasn’t quite himself because of it, either.”

No, her uncles hadn’t done well over the past winter. “Better now,” she said with a smile, and was grateful for the truth behind it. “Much better.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” the vendor said with enthusiasm. He handed over a bag of thick bones, some with the meat and marrow with them. “You come by if you ever need more, I’ll be here through the end of the week. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough, Mister Gooper, more than fair.”

“You take care, Miss Elodie!” he called as she turned and headed back up the hill to Bag-End. The day was bright and beautiful, and she nearly skipped along, feeling as if she were a child instead of a hobbit recently come of age.

“Miss Elodie!”

She turned at her name, frowning at the unfamiliar voice. It was the hobbit who’d insisted on greeting her earlier in the market, and he was panting as he ran up the hill after her. It seemed odd that he would pant, however, given that he was nothing but muscle. Quite odd for a hobbit indeed. Curious enough that Elodie decided to wait.

He came to a halt in front of her and fought to catch his breath. “I just couldn’t bear you leaving without introducing myself,” he said at last. “Hob Hayward, my dear Elodie.”

Elodie raised an eyebrow. “I’m neither your dear or yours at all. That’s quite the assumption, Mister Hayward.”

Hob’s eyes went wide. “I, I didn’t mean it like that, forgive me, of course you’re your own and not mine! I-I wouldn’t dare presume, it was a nickname of affection, I’m so sorry-“

For one so muscled, she would’ve expected a spine of caliber to go with it. He seemed the type to be confident, given the way that he’d rushed after her and called her by her name, but he was still stammering and sputtering in front of her. Good grief.

“It’s fine, Mister Hayward,” she said at last, taking pity on the poor lad. “What was it that you wanted?”

“You,” he said immediately, then froze when she did. “I-I mean, your hand. Your hand, first, and your heart, I meant your heart too, and you already have mine and my affections-“

Elodie pivoted and immediately marched back up the hill to Bag-End. “Please wait!” Hob called, and she could hear him hurrying after her. “That came out all wrong. No hobbit does that, of course no hobbit does that, it’s improper.”

“You got my name from the meat vendor in town,” she said firmly, “and you didn’t get it from me. _That_ , Mister Hayward, would be the first step.”

“The first step, of course,” Hob stammered. “You deserve the first step in a dance.” His eyes went wide again as she turned incredulously towards him. “Not that I have even reached the next step in courting to ask you to a dance, of _course_ I haven’t-“

“You haven’t even asked me to _court_ you!” Elodie exclaimed. “And we don’t even know each other, how can you possibly want to court me?”

“Because you’re wonderful,” he said, and he gave her the goofiest smile she’d ever seen. It reminded her of when Frodo had gotten into the wine and giggled for several hours straight. “I’ve seen you around the Shire, but never were you more beautiful than when you were fighting.”

Elodie frowned until the memory surfaced. “Fighting? The fight where Gerd Proudfoot called my little brother a changeling child and I got shoved into the mud? _That_ fight?” Actually, that had happened a lot, growing up. Usually, she was good friends with Gerd, and he with her. They just happened to…well. Tussle about like children from time to time. He said some awfully foolish things sometimes, that was all.

“You broke his nose,” Hob said reverently. “You have a very mighty right hook.”

Elodie stared at him for a long moment, then turned and headed up the hill to Bag-End. As she’d expected, Hob followed. She was completely baffled because _beautiful_? She’d landed arse first in the mud and looked as if she’d soiled her dress in a _very_ unbecoming way. If it hadn’t been for the mud all over her hair and arms and hair, it might have looked that way, too, but she’d been fairly covered. She’d looked a horrible mess, and her cousin Merry had shrieked when he’d caught sight of her, certain that she’d been a bog beast.

_Beautiful_. Hob was off his rocker.

She was practically storming up the hill at this point, all while Hob kept nattering on about her virtues. She shoved the front gate open, catching the attention of her two uncles outside, then immediately turned around to where Hob had nearly followed her in. He took two hasty steps back, and Elodie set her basket down before crossing her arms in front of her. “What do you want?” she demanded.

“To, um, to court you,” Hob said hesitantly. “You’re the type of hobbit that everyone dreams of marrying. Strong, a fighter, and with the prettiest of smiles. Not that I’m really seeing the smile at the moment, just the glare. Which, quite honestly, isn’t as pretty as the smile is.”

With a growl Elodie did something very unladlylike, and she gave Hob a firm shove backwards. Hob lost his balance and tripped back even further than she’d intended, and he landed on his rear in what appeared to be quite the mud puddle. The splash was stunning, and when the mud cleared, he was seated in the puddle, and he was blinking up at her through the mud hanging all over him.

Elodie gave him a terse nod and whipped her head to Bag-End. With one hand she delicately caught the basket full of bones for Wingtail. The other hand went to closing the gate behind her, all but slamming it shut. Then, with her chin held high, she marched past her shocked uncles and into the house, leaving Hob outside in the mud puddle.

She missed the sigh of adoration from Hob and the sappy smile he held as he watched her go.

 

The second time she met Hob, it was as she was coming into town for a birthday party. She was late – her own fault, stuck trying to choose between three different hairstyles, none of which had worked properly due to her rushed fingers – and all but flew around the corner of the light post. She missed the light post entirely, thankfully, but didn’t miss the being coming up the other way. They collided with each other, and Elodie nearly hit the ground. Nearly.

Two arms caught her securely and kept her from landing on the ground. Good: her skirt was all but new, one of her mother’s, and she didn’t want to see it ruined. “Thank you,” she said automatically, then stopped. Oh. _Him_.

“You’re welcome,” Hob said cheerfully. “I was actually looking for you. I, erm. Well. Um. Actually-“

Elodie stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her, and thankfully, it was enough to get Hob moving. “I was serious about courting you, you know. You’re wonderful and beautiful and you-“

“Fight well, I know,” Elodie said. “Those aren’t usually the traits that a hobbit looks for when seeking out a partner ‘to have and to hold’ forever, you know.”

“I know,” Hob said, and he shrugged. “I’m an odd hobbit, what can I say?”

She was late and getting later by the minute. “I need to get to a birthday party,” she began, and Hob’s face lit up as if he’d stood in the sun’s rays.

“So do I! I was actually hoping to come up to your home and ask you to, um. To join me.”

“I don’t want a date, and I’m not particularly looking to court anyone,” Elodie said, trying to be as kind as she could. She’d never had an interest in anyone, woman or man, and she wasn’t particularly keen on it now. It was all right for her uncles, they’d found true happiness with each other, and Elodie remembered how her parents had looked at each other every day. She just…wasn’t inclined herself.

There’d been plenty of callers, of course. Uncle Bilbo had simply said that she could court if and when she was ever inclined, and had left it at that. Uncle Thorin had told her that if anyone bothered her, he would personally tear their spines out of their backs. Remembering the look on Uncle Bilbo’s face left her swallowing back a giggle.

“Have you ever courted anyone?” Hob asked. He didn’t seem particularly pushy, he appeared to just be curious.

“No, but I’m not looking to try,” Elodie said. As she moved, Hob followed behind, like a noonday shadow.

“Well…have you ever tried the black spotted trout before?”

Elodie frowned. “Black spotted trout? As in the fish?”

“As in the fish, yes. Have you ever eaten it before?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s terrible. Have _you_ tried it?”

“No, I’ve heard the same, that it’s dreadful. But just like courting, you could try it for yourself and see how awful it truly is!”

Elodie glanced over at Hob, who seemed quite proud of himself for his analogy. “See how awful it is, yes, I could,” she agreed, and Hob nodded before he seemed to realize just what it was that he’d said. He frowned and Elodie continued on without him, grinning the whole while.

“That’s not what I meant!” Hob shouted, racing to catch up. “I swear! It’s the trout that’s awful, not the courting!”

“I’m not certain about that,” Elodie said. She only had to find Uncle Thorin or Uncle Bilbo and Hob would disappear. “Have _you_ ever courted someone before?”

When Hob didn’t stay with her, Elodie found herself pausing. Hob remained where he’d stopped, but his eyes were still on her. “No,” he said. “No, I haven’t courted anyone before. You were the first one who made me want to try.”

That was…actually, that was the first thing Hob had wanted to say sweetly and had managed to pull off. “Well, as kind as that is, I’m not really interested,” she said at last. “I’ve a good life the way I have it, and I don’t want to change.” She could all but hear the word _spinster_ hanging in the air between them, and for a moment, it made her sick to her stomach.

Hob made a funny face, the kind that Uncle Bilbo made whenever Uncle Thorin was being, well, Uncle Thorin. “Everyone changes eventually,” he said, “but I understand.” He paused, and Elodie expected him to brush past her on the way to the birthday party.

Instead he came to a stop beside her and gave her that daffy grin again. “You don’t mind if I still go with you, though, do you? I’d much prefer your company over that of my first date.”

“You left your first date in order to come find me?”

“I’m quite certain my cousin won’t mind. She’s fifteen. I’m of age, by the way,” he said, as if he couldn’t help himself. “And I’ve a home of my own that I’m building.”

“Good for you,” she said, and the blinding grin he gave her almost made _her_ grin. She shook her head and kept going. “Come on, I’m late enough as it is.”

“I’m always late,” he said. “We can blame me.”

She intended to do just that. And then she did. And when Hob just shrugged with that cheerful grin as if he truly didn’t care, she slowly began to smile, too.

 

That began a very odd friendship that no one seemed to understand. Well, no one except her two uncles, who only smiled enigmatically whenever Hob came calling, asking if she wanted to search for frogs or go for a picnic in the Sparrowlings. No matter how many times she told them that no, she wasn’t interested in Hob, they agreed with her and sent her on her way.

So what if she saw Hob more days than she didn’t, now? So what if he’d offered her his jacket and hat when it had suddenly down-poured and she’d accepted? They were friends, and Hob was actually a very good friend. He treated Frodo like a respectable adult, even though her little brother could be neither respectable nor anything close to full grown. He was half scared of Uncle Thorin, she knew that, and it was funnier more often than not. And Uncle Bilbo? Everyone loved Uncle Bilbo, except for some of the random hobbits in town who muttered about him being too adventurous and poisoning the minds of the youth.

They didn’t do it when Uncle Thorin was around. They were a bit too smart for that.

But Hob didn’t share those thoughts, he thought Uncle Bilbo was marvelous, just like every other one of her friends who’d walked through the doors of Bag-End. Hob was ridiculous, accidentally saying foolish things and obviously adoring her in that sappy way of his when he thought she wasn’t looking. She merely laughed them off and Hob would roll his eyes and then laugh too.

Things were wonderful. Too wonderful, she supposed.

 

It was a rainy day when Wingtail wouldn’t get up. Elodie called him and called him, and brushed her hand over the top of his head like he loved. But her pup never answered – pup, he was nearly seventeen years old – and Elodie frowned. “Wingtail?”

Then the unnatural stillness registered, and a moment later she felt what she’d missed before: the cool touch under her hand. She stared and stared, and never realized she was on her feet until she was backing into Uncle Thorin, who’d heard her calling for Wingtail. “Elodie, what’s wrong?” he asked her.

Elodie turned and ran. She ignored the call from her uncles, the worried shouts that followed her as she darted out the big front door and out of Bag-End. The rain left her soaked in an instant, but she shoved through the front gate and ran anywhere except for there. Anywhere except for the house that death had touched again.

She didn’t realize she was at the river until her feet hit the grassy slope down and she nearly slid. Her eyes watched the waters rise and fall, sloshing just a little with the wind. The rain had made it swollen, higher than she remembered, and did she remember. Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo had helped raise her, but she remembered the life with her Mother and Father. Primula and Drogo, long gone, stolen by the very river she stood in front of.

Everyone changed. But it was never for anything good.

She _hated_ change.

“Elodie?”

She wasn’t even surprised. “Elodie?” Hob called again. She glanced back and found him standing a few steps behind her, big brim hat and large jacket on. Probably would give them to her, if she asked. “I saw you tear through town – your uncles are most likely right behind me, given the way they were rushing after you. What’s the matter?”

“I hate change,” she said suddenly, her anger swift and enough to make her gasp for air. “I _hate_ it. Nothing good ever comes of it, _nothing_.” She felt like a child, cursing at the sky for raining when the fields begged for it. She had gotten something good out of change. She’d gotten her uncles, who loved and adored her as if she were their own.

Why couldn’t she have gotten them without losing her parents, too?

“Elodie-“

“It’s not _fair_ , Hob, it’s not _fair_!” And she stamped her foot on the riverside.

An instant later, the saturated ground gave beneath her, and Elodie found herself falling back into the river.

She never felt the splash because it never came. Hob had somehow managed to dive and wrap his arms around her. He fell immediately to his knees, and though it didn’t keep them on the grass, it did keep them from falling straight into the river. They slid down the bank instead, and Elodie shoved her feet against the sandy shallow area that she could reach. Her own hands were digging into Hob’s arms, desperate to keep him upright, because she knew how to swim, of a sort, but Hob, Hob didn’t know how to swim, and he was going to _drown_ without her there, and she could already feel the river pushing her mother’s skirts downstream and wrapping them tight around her legs.

“ _Elodie!_ ”

“Here!” she cried over the sound of the rain pelting down. “Uncle Thorin, here!” Hob clutched at her when the wind blew over the waters, as if it would take her away, and Elodie clutched back.

Then a hand caught her and with one mighty pull hauled her up. “No, Hob!” she screamed, but Uncle Thorin was already passing her to Uncle Bilbo and reaching down for Hob. Her Uncle Bilbo held her tighter than he’d ever held her before, hands digging into her, refusing to let go.

Hob was there an instant later, and Uncle Bilbo clutched at him, too. Uncle Thorin wrapped himself around them all, and if his hands clung to both his husband and Elodie, no one said anything. She wondered what they were thinking of, what they were remembering, and then she didn’t care, because she was alive and so was Hob, Hob who wasn’t hurt, who could have _drowned_ -

“You _idiot_ ,” she snapped, and Hob stared at her, wide eyes almost _hurt_. “You could have drowned! What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about _you_!” he shouted. “What else was I supposed to think of?”

“You! You’re supposed to think about you!”

“I can’t! Not when all I can think about is you!”

“Then _I’ll_ think about you!” she yelled, and she swallowed back a sudden sob. Because that was all she’d done: she had thought only of Hob, falling into the river, drowning as her parents had. She gulped back the sob and instead reached for her friend. Hob wrapped her in his embrace, keeping her sheltered twice – once beneath his arms, and twice beneath the arms of her uncles. Hob was alive, too. He’d nearly died and all for her.

The thought of Hob not being there, the thought of her friend swept away under the waters, was more than she could bear, and suddenly she clutched at him, trying to protect him in her arms, too. Protect him from everything the world could throw at her, protect him from the death that seemed to tear everyone she loved away from her.

Only when Uncle Bilbo sneezed did Uncle Thorin drag them all up and push them back to Bag-End.

 

Wingtail was gone. Not just death-gone, but gone-gone. His body had been removed at some point, and Elodie didn’t know how. She could only feel the relief that she didn’t have to look in the corner and see his still form. No, it was just his empty bed, and that was a pain all its own.

Frodo raced over and held her tight as soon as she walked in, not even caring that she was soaked through and through. Her little brother, her little bird. He led her to one of the chairs in the den and promptly hurried off for towels. Uncle Thorin had the fire roaring in an instant, and after depositing Hob on the chair across from Elodie, he went to the kitchen to stoke the fire there, too. Elodie stole a glance in the kitchen after him and found her Uncle Bilbo huddled in front of the flames, his bad ankle up towards the heat. As soon as Uncle Thorin came in, though, she could see her other uncle desperately asking him questions and only settling once Uncle Thorin had nodded towards the den. Her. Worried about her, worried enough to risk his aging ankle and himself and dash out into the cold to find her.

Only when Uncle Thorin pressed Uncle Bilbo’s head to his chest and held him did Elodie look away. Frodo hurried back with the towels and quickly wrapped them around both Elodie and Hob. Then he stood there, as if uncertain what else he should be doing. “Do you want tea?” he finally asked.

Elodie cleared her throat when it felt like burrs had scratched their way across her tongue and down to her stomach. “Yes, please. Check on Uncle first, though, will you? I’ll be all right.” A lie, and the biggest lie she’d ever told her brother, and she hated herself for doing it. But right then and there Frodo needed the lie from her.

Frodo nodded rapidly and hurried to the kitchen. He paused, though, before he’d gotten two steps further, and suddenly Elodie found herself with a little brother clinging to her. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he murmured, and then he was gone, little feet pattering across the wooden floors. Elodie felt her eyes burn and wiped at them with the towel.

“I’m glad you are, too.”

Elodie glanced up at Hob. His nose was bright red, and Elodie felt a surge of guilt for possibly making him sick. He’d lost his hat, too, somewhere along the way. She thought she remembered seeing it fly away with the wind that had stolen across the river.

“You almost died,” Elodie whispered. Her earlier anger was gone, replaced by overwhelming dread and that horrible guilt that was creeping along her insides. She had almost killed her friend, her dearest friend, all because she hadn’t been able to handle…

She didn’t look at Wingtail’s corner. She wasn’t certain she ever could again. Seeing the empty bed now wouldn’t give her relief, it would leave her cold and hollow. And pained.

“People do that,” Hob said gently. “They die, Elodie.”

“Well they shouldn’t,” she bit out. “We have wizards and healers all across Middle-Earth, you’d think one of them would find the cure already.”

Hob glanced into the kitchen, then slid his chair over and closer to her. It made horrible squeaking sounds as it did so, and if her heart hadn’t been so shredded, she would’ve laughed at the winces he made. She couldn’t even find it in her to smile again, though.

Hob finally reached out and took her hand in his. Somehow, his was warmer than hers, despite having been dipped in the same river and rain as she had been. “I know…I know you lost your parents. I couldn’t imagine that happening, not ever. I never knew my mother, she died a little after I was born. But my da? I couldn’t even begin to fathom the pain you had when you lost yours, because it’s impossible for me to think of.”

Elodie stayed silent. His thumb was tracing patterns across her skin, and instead of it being an irritant, it was actually soothing.

“I know that’s why you don’t like change. I know it is. And…and I don’t like change either.” He swallowed hard and shifted his jaw. “But change can be good, too. Change isn’t always a bad thing, Elodie. I promise.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes again, but this time she let them fall down her face. Hob’s free hand came up and brushed them away, just as they had many times before, she realized. Her dear friend who’d been by her side for over a year, now. Her best friend, the one who didn’t mind when she pushed him off the log he’d been sitting on with her, the one who just laughed when she accidentally dropped a frog on his head, the one who never made fun of her when she ripped her clothes in terribly embarrassing ways. Her dear, dear Hob, who’d nearly died trying to save her tonight.

She sniffled. “How can change be anything good?”

Hob gave a watery version of his usual daffy grin. “Let me show you?”

It was then that she realized he was crying, too, silent tears dripping down his cheeks. “Why are you crying?” she whispered.

He snorted a wet laugh. “Because you’re crying. And I can’t stand to see you cry.”

Uncle Bilbo had told her that there hadn’t been any large revelation, when he’d realized the emotion he held for Uncle Thorin was love. It had been a crush, at first, but then a friendship had blossomed. Then, when it had hit, there had been no incredible rush, no intense moment of knowing Uncle Thorin was the one for him. There had just been a warm place in his heart and a simple _Oh_.

She understood, now. She thought she did. “Yes,” she said.

Hob blinked. “Yes…?”

“Show me. Show me how change is better.”

There was nothing less about his smile now, and she realized just how much she depended on that smile to make _her_ smile, for her own lips were turning up of their own accord. “I will,” he promised. “Our change will be beautiful, Elodie.”

He paused. “That, um, was you agreeing to letting me court you properly, right?”

She giggled and wiped the last of the tears from her eyes. “Yes, you nutter. I can’t promise it’ll end with me agreeing to anything else-“

“Courting’s fine,” he swore with an emphatic head nod. “I know that…that my occupation makes me a not so desirable ‘catch’ as my da says, but-“

“What _do_ you do?” she asked, and it occurred to her that she’d never asked him, in all the days that she’d known him. Over a year of being friends, and she’d always assumed, because she saw him in town, that he worked in one of the shops.

Hob gave a sheepish grin. “I’m a bounder. I protect the Shire’s borders.” His smile fell a little. “I understand if, um, if that means you’d rather not-“

“There’s a party next month,” she said quickly. “I’d like to dance with you. So you have a month to court me properly so we’re not out of line by dancing with each other.”

His smile was warm and soft, so different than his usually goofy grin, and Elodie realized her chest felt warm. _Oh_ , she thought. Yes, perhaps this friendship was one important enough to keep forever.

“I will then. You don’t mind my being a bounder…?”

“Mind? Hob, we roam around every corner of the Shire on a regular basis, and I’ve told you about my wanting to visit the elves in Rivendell some day. And you thought I would _mind_?”

“Oh. Good point.”

“I thought so.”

Hob just grinned, and Elodie huffed out a laugh.

She never noticed the three pairs of eyes from the kitchen watching them. One pair shut tight, waiting in case they kissed (which they didn’t) because kisses were still disgusting at that age, especially when one of the kissers was your sister.

The other two pairs of eyes just smiled fondly – in Bilbo’s case, a bit smugly, because he’d always thought it might go that way, no matter how many doubts Thorin had had – and left them alone.

 

“How long are you going to court Hob?”

Elodie wiped the back of her arm over her forehead. “I don’t know,” she finally said, in response to Frodo’s question. The garden had needed tending, especially in the far right corner. She gave a fond smile and a quick pat to the lone stone that marked Wingtail’s grave before going back to digging up the weeds around it. “Why?”

“It’s been almost two years. I just wanted to know.”

“Why, anxious for me to move out of here and move in with Hob?” Elodie asked, her laugh a little breathless from her efforts. When Frodo didn’t answer or tease in reply, though, she turned to her little brother properly.

Frodo’s eyes were shining with tears. “I don’t want things to change,” he said miserably. “Elodie, I don’t want you to go.”

Elodie immediately dropped her trowel and opened her arms. Frodo was getting bigger and bigger every day –in his twenties now properly with perhaps another half inch to grow, if that – but he still fit in her arms and under her chin. “Oh, my little bird,” she murmured. Frodo clung to her and sniffled.

“Uncle Bilbo told me to come talk to you about it. He said you’d have better answers than he did.”

She’d wondered why Frodo had suddenly come out to the garden when he’d known he might get roped into gardening. Frodo was more of a scholastic type, preferring to get dirty from ink than from dirt. He liked gardens, he just didn’t prefer gardening. That should’ve been her first clue there.

“Don’t you like Hob?” she asked, suddenly fearing the answer. But Frodo’s immediate nod against her shoulder left her relieved. “Are you afraid I won’t give you my bigger room? Because that fear is valid. It’s my room and you’re not moving in.”

Frodo giggled a little, then sniffled again. “No, nothing like that. I just…I just don’t want you to go. Everyone always goes.”

“But I’m not going away forever,” she said. She understood this fear. This, this she understood, because she’d been at this very point, two years ago, when Hob had officially asked permission to court her. Hob asking Uncle Thorin had been nothing short of hysterically funny, especially since Uncle Thorin had worn his “stone-scowl” face, as Uncle Bilbo liked to call it. Hob hadn’t seen the mirth in her dwarf uncle’s eyes until Uncle Bilbo had taken pity on Hob and insisted it was fine with them as long as it was fine with Elodie.

“I’ll be over a few hills and on the border,” she said. “And Hob’s building extra rooms in his house, just so you can come over and stay. So I’m not going anywhere, truly. You can come with me at any time you want.”

Frodo pulled back to look her in the eyes. His dark and curly hair looked more and more like Father’s every day. It also looked a bit like Thorin’s, and hadn’t _that_ been one of the funnier conversations that they’d ever had with Dwalin. Elodie was fairly certain that the dwarf still thought Frodo was the product of her uncles. It made her lips turn up at the memory.

“Really?” Frodo asked.

“Really.”

“And I can come with you to see the elves?”

Elodie blinked. “You want to see the elves?”

“I always have,” Frodo said. “I just want to return to the Shire when I’m done seeing the world.”

Slowly Elodie began to smile. “I think we can do that. You and me, off to see the world.” And Hob by her side, keeping her laughing, being the greatest friend she could have ever asked for. Warming her heart, holding her hand. Courting her for years and years and never caring because he was with her, and that, he said, had been what he’d wanted all along. Just to be by her side.

“And I’ll bring Sam,” Frodo said. “Though he’s not as keen on leaving the Shire as you and I are.”

“Well, he might change his mind if it’s for the elves. We’ll have to see.”

“Elodie, Frodo! There’s lunch!”

And Hob. She could see him now through the window, grinning and waving at her like a loon. She laughed and hoisted Frodo to his feet, then followed after her little brother to where her friend was waiting.

Life changed. But it could be good.

_Finis_

 


End file.
